


how long do we have?

by callunavulgari



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29757660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: “I wanted to make sure I remembered it,” Adora says, her voice a quiet murmur in the dark. “What the price of failure would look like.”“The war is over, Adora,” Catra tells her.Adora hums. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98





	how long do we have?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faorism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faorism/gifts).



> For a prompt thing I did in JANUARY OF 2019 - Faorism asked for: 4 - how long do we have? catra/adora.
> 
> I might be bad at replying to them in a timely manner, but by golly, these old prompts really do help me push through that writer's block. Over all, it's pretty short, but I really wanted to write about things falling apart. Based in part off of Honey and the Sting's, [Mercury](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRlfR1BSlZE). Particularly this line - "the earth still bears the memory of the shining future lost."

Catra is on a planet that is splitting apart. The earth trembles beneath her feet, a faint vibration that hasn't left them since they touched down twenty minutes ago. It's an ominous, lingering warning, as if the entire planet is holding its breath. Bracing for impact. The larger quakes come and go, strong enough to knock her clear off her feet if she isn't careful. Those earth-shaking surges have been coming more frequently, with a sound that could be a scream. The sky is a smear of unhealthy green far above her head and as she watches, lightning cracks on the horizon.

The end of a world is horrible.

“How long do we have?” Catra asks, wary as she steps into Adora's shadow. 

Adora doesn't move - _hasn't_ moved - wearing She Ra’s skin like armor, her eyes on that distant, horrible horizon.

Catra watches her, poised on the tips of her toes. She’s edgy- always is, really, but it's been amped up to eleven since they got here, since they realized that they were too late to save anyone. Catra's tail flicks behind her, back and forth, over and over again. Her teeth hurt when she grinds them together, but the earth is falling apart around them, and _Adora_ _won’t move_.

“Adora,” she says, new urgency in her voice as she watches a cliff face a couple miles north of them collapse into the churning sea. She reaches out, catching Adora’s hand. 

Adora blinks, and Catra watches her throat work. 

It’s still new - this thing between them. New and old, because loving Adora was one of the first decisions that Catra remembers making, but this- knowing that she’s allowed to just reach out and touch- that part is new. New enough to still shock her. Catra can only hope that the touch, the newness of it, will be enough now, because if it comes down to it, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to move Adora unless Adora wants to be moved. Not like this. Not with her wrapped all cozy and neat in She Ra’s skin.

Fortunately, she doesn’t need to put that to the test, because at her touch, Adora tips her head to look back at her. Like this, Adora is so much brighter. There’s a glow to She Ra - rich and golden - so much that sometimes it hurts to look at her.

Catra swallows and this time, she doesn’t make it a question. “Adora, I don’t think we have much time.”

Adora blinks again, slowly, and looks again towards the horizon. There’s a grim little tilt to her mouth when she murmurs, “No, we don’t.”

“Come on, then,” she urges, tugging at Adora’s fingers. “Let’s go back to the ship.”

Catra’s voice cracks. Her tail lashes against the backs of her knees. She is scared, here on this distant planet that is coming apart around them. 

Adora doesn’t move, her eyes on the quickly rising sea far below them. 

Catra tugs at her again. There’s a lump in her throat. 

“Adora,” she whispers, staggering when another tremor hits. Adora doesn’t move, still as stone, still as bedrock, so Catra clings to her. Her breath catches in her throat as another shelf collapses into the sea, the resulting wave large enough that if they were standing anywhere else, it would have consumed them.

She buries her nose in She Ra’s chest so she doesn’t have to see it anymore, clenching her eyes shut tight. Her arms tighten around Adora, pressing herself close. The earth isn’t the only thing trembling anymore.

“Adora,” she says, tears clinging wet to her lashes. “Please.”

Adora moves, her arms coming up around her. Caging her in. It should comfort her, but instead, she just feels trapped.

“Let me watch a little longer,” Adora whispers, and Catra glances past her, where the lightning is getting worse. Where the bruise green of the sky meets the muddy red of the sea. She feels like she might vomit. 

To think, this is what she would have been a part of, if Prime had had his way. This could have been Etheria. 

Catra makes a noise, half whimper, half sob, and buries her face in Adora’s chest again. 

After a long moment, Adora moves. 

Catra’s legs are jelly, both from the tremors and the terror, so Adora simply picks her up, plucks her right up off the ground, big hands wrapping around hip and waist and thigh. Catra goes easily, clambering for higher ground, then wrapping her legs around Adora’s waist, locking her ankles at the base of her spine. Over Adora’s shoulder, she watches as the cliff they were just standing on gives way. Catra shudders, clenching her eyes shut until they’re safely on the ship, until she can feel the difference in the air, the cool rush of circulated air soothing her overheated skin. The smell of the dying world is still clinging to her, all ozone and sea spray. 

“Take us home,” Adora tells the ship, not stopping for a response. She carries Catra past the console, down the cool halls, and only lets go of her once they’ve made it to the bed, sheets still rucked up from this morning. She eases Catra down onto it, her hands gentle, but Catra doesn’t unclench, doesn’t let go, makes Adora come down with her. 

“You know,” Adora says, after a few more moments of this. “You can let go of me now.”

Catra shakes her head, clinging tighter. 

“Don’t change back,” Catra whispers against Adora’s collarbone. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” Adora tells her. She shifts a little, maneuvering them so that Catra is spread out on top of her instead of under her. Her hands go from Catra’s hips to the base of her spine, stroking slowly. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Catra makes an unhappy noise. “I didn’t like that place.”

Adora’s hand stops moving. She is quiet for a moment, long enough that Catra cracks her eyes open to peer up at her. In the dark, the glow of She Ra is so bright that it hurts. 

“I didn’t either,” Adora says, at last. Slowly, her hands resume their stroking.

Catra is relaxing, inch by agonizing inch. She shuts her eyes again and tries not to purr. “Then why did we stay so long?”

“I wanted to make sure I remembered it,” Adora says, her voice a quiet murmur in the dark. “What the price of failure would look like.”

“The war is over, Adora,” Catra tells her.

Adora hums. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Catra sits up, her knees on either side of Adora’s hips. She makes herself look, lets her eyes adjust to the brightness of her. 

“Adora,” she says.

Adora meets her eyes. They’re bright, so much bluer like this, when she’s She Ra. Catra can never decide if she likes it or hates it, that Adora looks so different. 

“Sometimes, there’s more than one war, Catra,” Adora says, so very gently. 

“Yeah, well,” Catra says with an irritated flick of the tail. “We just finished the one, so-”

Catra bends down and captures Adora’s mouth with her own before she can reply. For a moment, she doesn’t think it will work. Adora moves under her, mumbling mutinous words against her lips, but after a handful of seconds, she gives, kissing Catra back.

At first, it was strange to kiss Adora like this. Kissing She Ra was very different than kissing Adora in her own skin. She Ra was bigger, for one. Everything about her was bigger, really, taller and broader and thicker, heavy with dense muscle where Adora was wiry and lean. But she still sighed the way that Adora did when Catra nipped her jaw. Still shivered when Catra stroked her belly. 

It was an adjustment, the first time. But Catra had gotten used to it.

They don’t talk. 

They kiss and sigh and press into each other, and when Catra works a hand down the front of Adora’s pants to grind a knuckle against her, Adora lets out a punched out little gasp, hips jerking. 

Catra feels good like this, sitting on top of the most powerful person in the entire universe and watching her come undone. It’s almost good enough to forget the way that planet had looked in its death throes, bruised all over and angry. Almost, _almost_ good enough to forget the way Adora had looked when she’d said, _sometimes there’s more than one war_.

“How long do we have?” Adora gasps under her, and Catra _knows_ what she’s asking- knows that she’s asking about the distance between their ship and the next planet, knows that she’s asking how long they have together, like this- but there’s a part of Catra, that furious, terrified part of her that’s always lurked in her core, that is always asking that _very_ question.

How long _do_ they have?

How long will Catra be good enough?

And now, a new question- a new fear-

 _How long until the next war_?

Catra clenches her jaw tight, and pushes the fear away, to the very back of her skull, where it won’t threaten to drown her. She bends to press a kiss to the corner of Adora’s mouth and sighs. 

“Long enough.”


End file.
